


All The Brighter For It

by dancingbeetle



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingbeetle/pseuds/dancingbeetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>and then they were smiling at each other, kiss-befuddled, for a long moment before she looked down, almost embarrassed at her own happiness</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Just another version of how things might go post-Episode 98 as Lizzie and Darcy spend the next several days in a Haze of Luuuurve, i.e., my shot at filling in the blanks left by the last few episodes. Rating for later chapters.</p><p>*finally updated!*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunday

SUNDAY

Some time elapsed between when Lizzie turned off the camera and when she and Darcy emerged from the den as she was pinning her hair back into place over her ear and he was straightening his tie. She caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and grinned, and then they were smiling at each other, kiss-befuddled, for a long moment before she looked down, almost embarrassed at her own happiness and at the almost obscene sight of Darcy's fingers smoothing the knot of his silk tie.

"I should find Charlotte," she said bashfully. "I don't want her to think I abandoned her on our birthday."

But it was Charlotte who had done the abandoning; the kitchen was empty, save for a note lying on the counter next to a single spring roll.

_Sorry for bailing, I thought I should let you two talk in peace. Here's your half of dinner. Have fun and CALL ME LATER!!! -C_

"Well, that answers that," Lizzie said. "I guess my evening just opened up."

"Are you sure Charlotte doesn't mind?" asked Darcy. "After all, it is your birthday. I don't want her to think I..."

"What, spirited me away with your wiles? You've seen what she's like. She's probably eating victory shrimp and silently cheering us on."

"But surely you have familial obligations. Your parents—"

"We did family stuff yesterday," she interrupted him gently. "Everybody's out this afternoon. It was going to be just me and Charlotte, but now it's just me and you. Which is good, actually. There's kind of a lot to process right now. I don't know if I really want to be around other people." She smiled.

"Well, in that case," said Darcy, "I would be honored if you would spend your evening with me, Lizzie."

"It would be my pleasure," she replied. Their eyes met over the kitchen counter, and Charlotte's words echoed in Lizzie's head.

_Chemistry. Heat. Tension._

"What do you want to do?"

***

They walked slowly out of Lizzie's neighborhood and toward the small downtown. After a block and a half of shoulder bumping, Darcy took the hint and took Lizzie's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and glancing at their hands with a hint of wonder on his face.

They talked of nothing, which was everything now: the small stories and observations that fill in the spaces between two people who are just starting to learn each other. A tale of a younger sibling's first day of kindergarten as she passed the elementary school; a scrap of song floated from an open shop door and brought with it something that had reminded him of her a week before.

Occasionally he would give her hand an extra little squeeze, and she would turn her head to find him simply looking at her.

"You keep staring at me like I'm going to disappear," she said, smiling. "I'm not going to run away, you know."

"That's just it, I don't know," said Darcy. "I mean, I don't think you're going to run away, Lizzie, of course. It's just that I spent so long thinking about this – about you – that I think I stopped believing it would ever actually happen. I came to your house fully expecting that you would thank me and send me on my way. I scarcely dared to hope that the outcome would be anything but that."

"And now I'm walking down the street holding hands with William Darcy," she said.

"And I am holding hands with Lizzie Bennet."

"It's funny you should say it like that," Lizzie said after a moment's pause. "You know, the first time you told me about...your feelings, you were so headstrong and certain. You seemed so taken aback that I disagreed so strongly with you, like it didn't fit in your version of the world. I'm not trying to criticize you!" she added hastily, "I didn't exactly handle myself well that day, either. It's just...that kind of caution isn't something I associated with you."

"It's something I've had to learn," he said honestly. "You're right, I didn't really consider anyone else's feelings. And once I realized the mistake I had made, it was a somewhat difficult lesson to learn to listen to what other people were saying. But you helped me learn it."

"What mistake did you make?" she asked.

"I fell in love with you before I really knew who you were. And once I started learning who you really are, it just became more difficult _not_ to love you, and not to want you to love me. But the more time I spent with you, the more I realized how foolish I would be to press the issue, even as it became harder to stay simply friendly."

"Well, if it helps, you did exactly the right thing," said Lizzie.

"It would seem so," Darcy replied, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

***

They passed a restaurant just as Lizzie's stomach gave a fortuitous rumble, and she was reminded of the Chinese food she hadn't gotten the opportunity to eat.

"Are you hungry at all?" she asked Darcy.

"Oh, of course, I took you away from your dinner!" he said, stricken. "Let's stop, by all means. You must be starving."

"I may faint," she said dramatically, laughing. "Seriously, this is one of my favorite places downtown, and food _would_ be really nice." As they took their seats at a table, she smacked her forehead. "Oh no, I left my wallet at home. Shoot. Can I pay you back later?"

"There's really no need. Lizzie, really," he said, cutting off her protest, "it's my treat. For your birthday. You can buy me dinner next time, if it's important to you."

 _Next time._ Those words gave her a warm feeling in her stomach. She subsided.

"All right," she said. "But you know, this is something we're going to have to navigate on a regular basis. There's some income inequality here. In that I have none."

"I know. We'll figure it out," Darcy said placidly.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and if their ankles touched more and more often throughout the course of their dinner, and if he picked up her hand while they were waiting for dessert and kissed her fingertips with a thoughtful look in his eyes, and if they left the restaurant with his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist, rather than hand in hand, the evening was all the brighter for it.

***

They took their time meandering back to Lizzie's house after dinner. They passed a park they hadn't walked by before, and she guided him over to a bench and they sat and watched the sun slip down behind the bleachers that lined the sides of the soccer field. A couple of kids ran by, their curfew no doubt the street lamps that would flicker to life as soon as it got dark enough. It was warm, and Darcy spent more time looking at Lizzie than he did the sunset, and the oranges and pinks of the sky lit her face and hair like a painting.

"Can I ask you a foolish question?" he said.

"Of course," she answered, smiling up at him.

"When did your feelings toward me start to change? What – what happened, that you grew to see me differently?"

Lizzie exhaled, as if she'd been holding her breath. "I don't know," she said finally. "I can't really pinpoint the day or the place. A dozen little things all added up, and I started seeing you as a human being instead of a robot, and I liked the human Darcy. And then after I came home, and I didn't hear anything from you for so long, and then suddenly I realized how much I _wanted_ to. But by the time I figured out how much I missed you, I thought it was too late."

The catch in her voice spoke volumes; Darcy could hear the emotions she'd been trying to keep at bay for weeks, the uncertainty and the confusion.

Darcy tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I wanted to," he said quietly. "I should have done."

"I could have called you sooner, too," she said. "It is the twenty first century, after all."

He kissed her forehead. "One of the most valuable lessons my father ever taught me was that it's never too late," he said. "Whether one is trying to fix something that already happened, or make something happen in the future, it is always worth the attempt. And my mother taught me not to do things by halves. That's why I came to your house, Lizzie. Whether the attempt succeeded or failed, I wanted to be there. Not on the other end of a phone call."

"I'm glad your parents were right. I was getting pretty sick of the way things were going," she said, lifting her face to his.

"I find this infinitely preferable, as well," he replied, just before their lips met again.

He hoped he would never get used to these sensations. His nose buried in her hair, her hand on his neck or his shoulder or gripping, nearly clutching his elbow as she opened her mouth against his and they breathed together, heat filling the little space left between them.

She gently broke off the kiss, and he would have been embarrassed at the choked, needy sound in the back of his throat, if he had been aware of making it.

"As much as I _really_ like this," she said, "perhaps we should reconsider the, ah, venue."

Darcy glanced around him at the darkening park. Nobody else seemed to be out, but he had to admit that their location was somewhat exposed.

"Shall I walk you home?" he asked.

Lizzie smiled. "Sure, that sounds nice."


	2. Sunday Night, 1

SUNDAY NIGHT

Her steps slowed as they turned the corner onto her street and approached her house. The windows were lit, and the car in the driveway was evidence that her parents had returned from their errands. Lizzie stopped with a sigh.

"Is everything all right?" inquired Darcy.

"Yeah, I just...I kind of really don't want to talk to anybody right now," said Lizzie. "And I certainly don't want to drag you inside and shove you in front of the maternal firing squad. But at the same time my feet hurt and I don't want to go to Carter's or anything."

"Well, I could offer an alternative," he said tentatively. "Bing gave me a set of keys to Netherfield some time ago, and he said I should feel free to use the house any time I liked. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you were there, too, and there are plenty of guest rooms – but you know that already, of course..."

"Netherfield would be perfect," she said with a smile. "And I'm sure we can find a sleeping arrangement that will suit everyone. I'm just going to grab a change of clothes, okay? I'll be right back." She went up on tiptoe and dropped a kiss on his lips before flitting across the lawn and up the front steps into her house.

Darcy waited with his hands in his pockets, trying not to wonder if the phrase "sleeping arrangement" held any hidden meaning.

A few minutes later, a figure too slight to be Lizzie slipped out the side door and looked around furtively before running up to him.

"Hello, Lydia," he said.

"Hey, Darce," said Lydia, and Darcy was pleased to hear her old energy in her voice. "Listen, I know my sister is going to thank you in her own way, wink wink," this she accompanied with an actual exaggerated wink, "but I just wanted to let you know that on behalf of the cooler third of the Bennet sibs, I am also, like, super grateful for what you did. Seriously," she said, her face suddenly earnest. "Lizzie told me about what your sister went through, so I know you guys know. And I just wanted to say thank you and that I was wrong about you and I'm sorry for the mean things I said. And you can totally play some tonsil hockey with my sister because she really needs it."

She threw her arms around Darcy and hugged him tightly for a second, and he surprised himself by returning the embrace, glad that Lydia's idiosyncratic flame hadn't been totally extinguished.

"You're welcome, Lydia," he said. "And I, too, am sorry for the rude things I said about you. You deserved better, and I'm glad I could help you."

"Oooh, this is so great!" she squealed. "Man action for  _both_  my nerdy sisters! Oh, and tell Lizzie to give Gigi my phone number. I really want to meet her sometime. Okay, laterz!! Have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do!" And she ran back to the house.

"Was that Lydia?" asked Lizzie, coming up with a familiar-looking tote bag over her shoulder. "What did she have to say?"

"If I understood her correctly, 'thank you.' As well as some sisterly congratulations regarding your, ah, 'man action.' It's remarkable, how much she reminds me of Gigi. Only...more so."

"You are not wrong," said Lizzie, giggling a little. "Okay, let's get out of here before my mother gets suspicious. I told her Charlotte was waiting in the car and we should get out of here before she remembers that Charlotte doesn't have a car."

***

It was a short drive in Darcy's rental to Netherfield, which was as grand as Lizzie remembered it, although the slight dust of disuse only served to make the house a little more welcoming in a strange way. When Darcy turned the lights on in the kitchen, it was as if they were unexpectedly meeting an old acquaintance.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked. "Bing's hospitality certainly extends to the wine cellar, particularly since he won't even notice what we relieve him of."

"Wine would be nice," she said. While he went downstairs, Lizzie found some candles in a cabinet and arranged them in the living room, where they helped dispel some of the musty smell of uncirculated air. She dropped her bag on one of the couches and was browsing half-remembered bookshelves when Darcy appeared and paused in the doorway, staring at her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's – it's strange to see you standing there, after all this time," he said, setting a bottle and two glasses down on the coffee table. "When I think back to the weeks when you and Jane were here, and—"

"And all our arguments, how I antagonized you at every opportunity and refused to acknowledge there could be anything nice about you?" she said with a smirk.

"How fascinated I was by you. How entranced," he said, crossing the room toward her. "How I flinched at my poor attempts to engage you, how much I wanted to tell you what I was truly thinking. I had never felt like that before, Lizzie, but all I wanted to do was this—" He pulled the length of her body tight against his and lowered his mouth to hers with a gentleness that belied the heat in his voice. "And now I can," he whispered against her lips.

Lizzie wasn't sure how she could ever have thought this man was a robot, but she had no chance to dwell on it. The book in her hand dropped unheeded to the floor as her arms came up, one hand stroking the short hairs at the nape of Darcy's neck, the other clutching at his upper arm as he leaned into her, pressing his hand against her shoulder blade and deepening the kiss.

This was different from the kisses in the den and the park. Now she was infused with the awareness that they were alone, that the room around them was nearly dark, that there were empty rooms and beds waiting upstairs and there was nothing to interrupt them if they so desired.

 _Desire_. If she had been asked, Lizzie would have sworn she knew the meaning of the word – textbook and practical. But nothing had prepared her for the way her body responded to the way William Darcy dragged a thumbnail up her spine, or how she shuddered – physically shuddered – when his lips found their way to the hollow behind her ear. And he was no better; the gasp that escaped him when she ran her tongue along his bottom lip sent sparks straight to her knees. She had loosened the perfect knot of his tie and was going for the top button of his shirt when her phone chimed insistently from her bag.

" _Damn_  your phone," Darcy said with uncharacteristic vehemence as they broke apart, panting ever so slightly. Lizzie had to laugh.

"It does seem rather set on interrupting interesting moments," she said, disentangling herself from his arms.

"Interesting is not the word I would use," he said in a low voice as he followed her over to the couch. As she read Charlotte's tweet and responded, he stood behind her, lifting her hair off her neck and trailing kisses from her ear to her shoulder. Lizzie laughed again and swatted him half-heartedly away.

"William Darcy! Let me tweet my best friend! Oh my gosh, I'll be done in a second. Why don't you open the wine?" It was only with reluctance he let go of her and stepped away. She tried to concentrate on her missives to Charlotte, but her eyes kept slipping over to the slender man with the corkscrew in his hand and a practiced grip on the neck of the bottle.

"What word would you use?" she asked slyly.

"Hm?"

"You said, 'interesting is not the word you would use.' What word  _would_  you use?"

His mouth opened slightly as he considered, toying with the foil still clinging to the neck of the wine bottle.

"I...don't know," he said finally, sounding somewhat perplexed. "I hadn't thought that far. I've never been in my best form around you, Lizzie Bennet, and I must confess that now I am finding it even more difficult to think than before."

"Oh?" she said.

"Yes. You're very distracting," he said, pouring the wine. "Perhaps that's the right word."

And although Lizzie would not have expected that simple phrase to be what finally sent the reality of the evening spinning through her as if she had already consumed half a bottle of wine, she suddenly found that she had to sit down and take a deep breath, or several, and William Darcy came and sat next to her and put a glass in her hand and his hand on her knee, as if her whole life hadn't just been turned upside-down.


	3. Sunday Night, 2

“You know there are a bunch of things we need to talk about, right?” she asked.

“I know.”

“Important things. This isn’t just going to happen, you know—”

“I know.”

“—there are things we need to figure out, questions that need to be answered. It's not just automatically happy-go-lucky from here on out."

"I know."

"Like, what are we going to do about the videos? And my mother? And we don't live in the same town, and I'm not done with grad school yet, and I don't even know what I'm going to call you—"

"Lizzie, _I know_."

"What?"

"I know all that. I don't think it's going to be easy. And while things have certainly turned out the way I'd hoped they would, I am assuredly not under the impression that that is the key to our happiness. Lizzie," he said, taking her face in his hand, "I love you. And I know that's the thing that matters. The only thing."

"I don't know if I can say that yet," Lizzie whispered. "I want to, but—" Her voice broke.

"That's all right," Darcy said quickly. "Lizzie, sweetheart, really. You don't – I don't want you to do or say anything that you're not comfortable with. We'll take it slowly, yes? Right now it's only you and me. Why don't we answer one of those questions you just asked, okay? What do you want to do about the videos?"

"Charlotte tweeted me. She said to send her something to edit. But...I don't know if I want everybody to see this yet. So many people watch these things, it's totally crazy. I don't – I don't want to share this with anyone else yet," she said.

"Then we won't. You post a video tomorrow, and after that not until Thursday, right?" Lizzie nodded. "Why don't you ask Charlotte to end tomorrow's video at an opportune moment, a point that doesn't reveal too much. And then you have plenty of time to decide how you want to portray recent events."

"Are you okay with that?" she asked. "I mean, everybody's going to be curious about why you showed up and what's going on. Are you comfortable with the internet knowing this stuff?"

"Lizzie, if I wasn't comfortable with the idea of appearing in your diaries then I wouldn't have shown up on your doorstep in the first place. I wouldn't have spent so much time with you at Pemberley, and I wouldn't be here now. I know this is part of you. And if I want to be part of your life, then the videos go along with it," he said. "It's a little strange at times, but I promise you, it's fine. We can decide together what to show your viewers, all right?"

"All right," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak out, I just – I think it's all kind of hitting me now."

"Why don't you send Charlotte your footage and some ideas about the edits. And then we can drink Bing's wine and watch a movie," suggested Darcy. "We'll think about the rest of it tomorrow."

"Okay. Good idea," said Lizzie, and pulled her laptop out of her bag.

***

Nearly two hours later, only dregs were left in their glasses. Lizzie's computer had been pushed to the side, and she was curled up under Darcy's arm, head on his shoulder. He glanced down at her to see her eyes drifting shut as the credits of _Casablanca_ scrolled up the television screen.

"Lizzie," he whispered. "You don't want to fall asleep on the couch."

"Why not? 'M comfortable," she murmured, snuggling closer to his chest.

"You won't be in the morning. You should go to bed."

"Where'm I gonna sleep?"

"Your old room is made up, I checked earlier. Let's get you up, shall we?"

But whether it was the wine or the dramatics of the day, Lizzie was too far gone to stay on her feet for longer than a moment before gravitating back to a prone position. Finally, Darcy simply scooped her up and carried her down the hall. He didn't roll his eyes; he was too much of a gentleman for that.

He was surprised at how light she was. With all her fire and spark, he almost expected her to be difficult to lift, as if she were made of something other than flesh and blood, but in fact she was rather petite, he realized now as he held her in his arms. Her hands were curled beneath her chin and her temple was resting against his chest. He wondered briefly, ridiculously, if she could hear his heart beating, if its wild rhythm had made its way into her dreams.

The purple walls were dusty but the room was neat. He perched her on the edge of the bed, threw back the duvet, and laid her down carefully. She half woke up as he slid his arms out from underneath her.

"Shoes," she said sleepily, imperiously extending a foot in his direction.

Smiling, he removed her uncomplicated flats and set them neatly beside the bed.

"And now the rest of it," she said, gesturing down her body.

"Oh no, Lizzie Bennet," he replied quietly. "I am a man, and I have my limits. The clothes stay on."

She pouted, eyes still closed, and he kissed her gently on the forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."

Her hand caught his sleeve as he turned to leave the room.

"Stay."

He looked back at her. Her eyes were open – had she been awake the whole time? He looked her in the eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded. "You can leave your clothes on, too," she said. "But you should stay. Please, William?"

He wasn't sure if it was the sleepy _please_ or the look on her face or his first name, but he found himself toeing off his shoes and undoing his tie, laying it and his vest on top of the empty chest of drawers. He slipped under the blanket and Lizzie turned to him and kissed his cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"G'night," she whispered and let herself slip back into sleep.

William Darcy had never believed in miracles. He believed in brains and hard work and maybe, yes, a little bit of luck, but he had never been a praying man. And yet, as he drifted asleep with Lizzie Bennet in his arms, her very presence singing through every vein in his body, the only words that crossed that sharp mind were _thank you, thank you, thank you_.


	4. Monday Morning, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit steamy when Lizzie and Darcy wake up together at Netherfield.

MONDAY

Generally speaking William Darcy had a tendency to wake up all at once, usually to the sound of a ringing phone or insistent alarm clock. He was not a morning person by nature, and although he had trained himself in college to arise early (and survive on comparatively little sleep) he still found that the more quickly he could wake up and get it over with, the easier it was.

But this morning there were no alarms, and his phone was still downstairs where he had left it on the coffee table. Today he allowed himself the rare luxury of slowly surfacing toward wakefulness, becoming aware of the light filtering in around the blinds, how uncommonly warm he was, the fact that he couldn’t feel his left arm, and the mass of dark red hair attached to the head that was pinning said arm to the pillow.

Lizzie was on her side, facing him, and despite the fact that she was already occupying well over half of the bed, one arm was flung across his chest as though claiming that part of the mattress, too. William smiled. He might have known that Lizzie would be as stubborn and headstrong in sleep as she was in waking.

He traced a finger reverently up her jawline and around the soft curve of her ear, tucking an errant lock of hair away from her face. She was warm to the touch and flushed with sleep, and William simultaneously became aware of several facts which immediately competed for his attention:

He was in bed. With Lizzie Bennet.

The whole length of her warm body was tucked up closely against his, and her bare feet were tangled up with his own.

He clearly found the situation unbearably erotic, because his body was beginning to respond in a way he had no control over.

He took several deep breaths and tried to shift quietly away from Lizzie on the bed, but his gentle attempts to remove his arm from underneath her head only resulted in her snuggling closer to him and tightening her arm across his chest. One leg twined itself in between his. This was not good.

“Lizzie,” he whispered. “I have to get up. My arm—”

“Nooo,” she said thickly, “don’t move.”

William sighed and subsided. He was trying to distract himself by thinking about quarterly reports, the upcoming board meeting, _anything_ but the beautiful woman next to him, when he felt a delicate hand insinuate itself inside his shirt collar and begin stroking his neck. Ah.

“I had a dream about you last night,” said Lizzie, still halfway in that place between sleeping and awake. “We were driving somewhere. In a car. And then it turned into a plane, but you couldn’t fly it, so someone else did. And we went in the back and there weren’t any seats, just pillows. And then we landed but you wouldn’t get off the plane. And then I don’t remember what happened.”

“Oh, really? I thought you forgot nothing,” he replied, a note of amusement in his voice.

“I don’t. But dreams are different,” she said logically. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

She had scooted up slightly so that her head was level with his, rather than with his shoulder. Her nose replaced her hand, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, and her hand had moved up and was caressing his ear. He was sure that in a moment she would be running her fingers through his hair, and then he would lose control entirely. He bit his lip.

“Good morning,” she whispered against his skin.

“Good – good morning,” he said, clearing his throat. Lizzie propped herself up on one elbow and hovered over him, her hair making a tangled curtain around their faces as she lowered her head just enough to kiss him.

William didn’t mean to kiss her back so enthusiastically, really he didn’t. His right hand began rubbing circles on her back completely of its own accord. Their morning breath, the creases of the pillowcase still lightly indented in her cheek, the fact that the circulation was only gradually returning to his left arm – none of it mattered compared to Lizzie’s mouth on his, and the way one of her hands was fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

She undid the top three buttons one-handed and pushed the collar open, revealing his throat and the hollow just below it. Her hand splayed against his pectoral muscles as her kisses trailed down his neck and into the open triangle of skin. He stifled a groan in response and his own hand slipped under the hem of her shirt to stroke the skin of her lower back.

Did he imagine the little hum of encouragement? He thought he was getting dizzy, but maybe it was just the fact that all the blood in his body seemed to be heading away from his brain, pooling beneath her lips and hand and – in other places. He was barely touching her, and yet just the few square inches of skin beneath his fingers was enough to bring a vision of her nakedness unbidden to his mind – just as she kissed his open mouth, took the weight off her elbow, and laid herself on top of him, chest to chest, hip to hip, her leg still twined enchantingly around his.

All at once William realized that the pressure of her hips on his certainly meant that she could feel just how aroused he had become. He had to put a stop to this. He broke off the kiss and tried ungracefully to push himself into a sitting position, but the redhead in his lap seemed to be deliberately making it difficult.

“Oh, God,” he said incoherently. “Lizzie, stop, please. I am so sorry – please, I didn’t mean to—”

Lizzie looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

“What are you apologizing for?” she asked in mock confusion. “This?”

She pressed her hips a fraction of an inch closer to his and took his earlobe ever so lightly between her teeth. All the breath hissed out of him at once.

“Yes,” he gasped, and now he wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for his erection or begging her to continue.

“Hmm, really? You don’t seem very sorry to me,” she said. She pressed herself another fraction of an inch closer and _shifted_ slightly against him in a way that made him throw his head back against the headboard.

She took advantage of his exposed throat and licked a stripe from the hollow between his collar bones up and over his Adam’s apple, which bobbed wildly as he tried to regain his composure.

“Oh, God,” he said again. “ _Oh_. Lizzie,” he swallowed another gasp, “if you keep doing that I, I’ll...”

“You’ll what, William?”

And oh, the way she whispered his name against his throat was the last straw. Wrapping an arm around her, he managed to flip them over so that she was beneath him, and though he pushed himself up on his hands to poise himself above her, their hips were still deliciously close. She looked up at him with eyes that were almost all pupil and squirmed again, and he groaned.

“Lizzie Bennet, are you _trying_ to be the death of me?”

“Depends. Do you mean death literally, or in the French sense?”

 _La petite mort_. The little death. Considering how he felt right now, it was an apt phrase.

"This wasn't really how I envisioned this happening," he said. "I didn't want – that is, I didn't intend for us to be, ah, so intimate so soon. I thought, or assumed, that you would want to – wait."

"Well, I don't," she said. Her hands moved to his abdomen, where his shirt had become untucked as they slept, and she stroked the skin just above his navel. "We don't have to dance around this any more, and I'm kind of over the whole 'not communicating what we want' thing. We're grownups. I want you," she grazed his belly lightly with her fingernails. "Do you want me?"

"Yes," he whispered. "You don't know how much."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"I didn't...come prepared for this," he admitted.

"Oh, but I did," she said. "And if you let me get up, I can go get my bag, and..."

"Wait, really? Lizzie Bennet, did you come to Netherfield with the intention of seducing me?" he asked in mock surprise.

"I may not have had any specific designs on your virtue, but I did consider the possibility," she said. "I did always want to be a Boy Scout. You know, be prepared?" She raised an eyebrow at him and the tip of her tongue appeared between her teeth as she smiled. "So are you going to let me get up, or...?"

He didn't, not right away. First he kissed her, as open-mouthed and filthily as he knew how, and she moved underneath him and dug her nails into his back and he sucked her bottom lip for as long as he could stand it before rolling to one side and looking at her innocently as she gaped at him. She laughed breathlessly as she finally climbed from the bed and danced out of the room.

William laid back on the bed, one hand beneath his head and one resting on his stomach where Lizzie's hands had been a moment before. She absolutely _was_ going to be the death of him, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _La petite mort_ \- French for "the little death." A euphemism for orgasm, and in the broader sense a description of the spiritual release that comes with physical and/or emotional satisfaction.
> 
> Thank you so much for the positive feedback so far. It puts such a huge smile on my face to know that people have enjoyed my little contributions to this awesome fandom :)


	5. Monday Morning, 2

Lizzie was back in under two minutes, a small foil-wrapped packet in one hand. William lay on his back on the bed, but he rolled on his side to face her when she appeared in the door, slightly out of breath from taking the stairs two at a time. He propped his head on his fist as he looked at her. A beam of morning light filtered in around the closed blinds, highlighting a few dust motes that swirled lazily in the room.

It was very quiet in the big house. Lizzie was very aware of what they were about to do, and the knowledge collected itself warm in her sweating palms and between her legs and in her butterfly-filled stomach. She took a couple of steps closer to the bed and tossed the condoms onto the bedside table.

"There's something I want to say," she said. "I couldn't say it last night, for some reason, I guess I was just a little freaked out. But the way I felt when I woke up next to you this morning made it so obvious." She reached behind her for the zipper of her shirt and drew it slowly down as she spoke.

"I love you, William Darcy. I really do. And I'm sorry I was mean to you, and I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out." She slipped her arms out of the shirt and let it drop to the floor, then reached for the button of her jeans. William's eyes had not left hers, but she could see his throat bobbing as he swallowed again and again. She began to pull the jeans down her legs. "And I'm going to make that up to you. But not like this. I'm doing this because I want to – because I want you. And I wanted to make sure you know that."

She was standing before him now in just her underwear. She took a step closer. The little part of her brain that never shut up whispered that it was an awfully good thing she'd worn a nice pair even though she'd thought she had no real reason to.

"I'm sick of wasting time," she said, and crawled onto the bed, and then they were kissing and his hands were painting long strokes up and down her back and sides and his mouth was warm and wet, and it was everything she wanted, and not enough.

That annoying part of her brain started to quiet down.

She made quick work of the rest of his shirt buttons, undid his cuffs (kissing his wrist as she did, feeling his pulse jump beneath her lips), stripped the wrinkled fabric off of his shoulders and arms and tossed it to one side. He tensed underneath her when she reached for the button of his pants, and she saw his anticipation in the way his knuckles whitened and his eyes fluttered shut as if of their own accord. Her own mouth was dry as she unzipped his fly and pulled his slacks slowly down over his hips and his knees and his feet.

His erection pushed against the soft fabric of his boxer briefs. She hesitantly ran the backs of her fingers up the length of him and felt him twitch in response. William’s eyes were still closed, but there was an intake of breath from the head of the bed and his grip tightened on her hip. Lizzie closed her hand around his cock and stroked once, twice, and was rewarded with a low moan. When she glanced up, his eyes, though unfocused, were fixed on her. She felt as though her lower belly was on fire.

“Come here,” he said thickly.

She wriggled up his body, pressing as much of her skin against his as possible. He kissed her heatedly as he undid the clasp of her bra. She had to pull away from him to take it off, and after it had been flung away she slipped her hand down and inside his underwear, caressing him. He was hot and soft and very hard.

His hands had found her breasts and she gasped a little as he rolled her nipples between ridiculously large fingers. And then, suddenly, his mouth was where one of his hands had been, shocking and wet, his tongue flicking against her with insistent little motions.

“Oh God,” she said involuntarily. She arched her back into his touch, and although she had to brace herself with both hands against the mattress to keep herself from collapsing against him, removing her hand from between his legs meant that now their hips were deliciously aligned, and his erection pressed against her so perfectly that she was sure he could feel how wet she was even through both pairs of underwear.

“Can I—” William asked, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties and tugging gently downward. Obligingly, she lifted her hips and he slid her underwear down until she could kick them off. She fumbled with his underwear, but her hands rapidly lost coordination as his fingers found their way between her legs.

“Oh, _God_ ,” she said again, and her hips twisted up and off the mattress as if of their own accord, matching his movements as he circled her most sensitive spot, one finger teasing at her opening. Somehow she managed to get his underwear off, too, and they were gloriously skin to skin, every inch of them, and her arms gave out and she collapsed against him.

His hands never missed a beat, one at the apex of her thighs, deliberately working her into a frenzy, while the other stroked her back, her neck, pulling her closer to his chest while his erection twitched ineffectively against her belly. They kissed insistently, and when his fingers crooked _just so_ Lizzie could not help but gasp against his mouth, feeling as if she was stealing all the air from the room as she did so.

As one, they rolled over, and William was the one to hover above her. Lizzie tried not to whimper as his fingers left her clit to skitter over her hip.

“Lizzie,” he breathed in her ear, “I want to be inside you.”

Just enough brain cells were still functioning that she could bite her lip and quirk an eyebrow.

“Why, William,” she said breathily, “have I discovered your secret propensity for dirty talk? How _shocking_.” She pressed herself up against him.

“You do have a tendency to bring out new dimensions of my personality,” he said.

She wrapped her hand around his cock and did her best to bring him to the edge as he fumbled for the condom on the bedside table, unwrapping it with shaking fingers. His eyes never left hers as they rolled it on together.

“Lizzie, I—”

“I know.”

Her hand came up to cup his cheek, and as much as Lizzie tried to concentrate on William’s eyes, the way his mouth opened slightly as he entered her, she couldn’t help the way she threw her head back, baring her throat to him as one knee hooked itself on his hip. And he couldn’t stop himself from raking his teeth ever-so-lightly against that exquisite neck, or the way his breath grew more and more uneven as they moved together, sweat and emotions pooling between them.

It was some time before coherent words were heard again between the purple walls of Netherfield.

***

It was already nearly noon by the time they left the bedroom. Lizzie automatically tweeted a link when she saw that Charlotte had put up the day’s video, without actually watching what had been posted. It must have been good, though – almost within minutes the notifications began pinging in. Lizzie didn’t read any of them. She was hovering indecisively over the play button when William ambled into the kitchen, hair damp and disheveled from the shower. He wasn't wearing a shirt.

She got distracted for a while.

They finally surfaced from their kisses, and as William began to make coffee, Lizzie remembered what she had been doing.

“The video is up,” she said, trying for nonchalance and not quite succeeding.

“Oh, really?” he asked. “Have you...?”

“No, not yet. I don’t know, I thought maybe you would want to watch it together? Is that weird?”

"I don't think so. Depending on where Charlotte decided to make the cut," he said with a smirk.

“I gave her an idea of what I wanted to go for. She should have left the really juicy stuff for the next one,” said Lizzie. “So this’ll be mostly me blithering, as usual.”

“Well, you know I find your blithering to be quite fetching,” said William absently, retrieving two mugs and giving them a cursory swipe with a clean dishrag. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? We’ll have to go out, or order in if there’s a place that delivers; I’m afraid there isn’t much in the way of food beyond coffee and stale… What?”

“You called me sweetheart.”

“So I did.”

They grinned goofily at each other while the coffee percolated.

“I vote ordering in,” said Lizzie decisively. “There’s a place called Angelo’s that does brunch all day, and they’ll deliver. I don’t think I want to leave the house.” She reached for his hand. “I don’t want to share this with anyone else just yet.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, and kissed her palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am inexpressibly sorry that it took me this long to update. I never intended for that to happen. If you're still willing to give it a go after so long, bless you. Personally, I can't believe how much I'm still invested in these characters, even eight months after LBD ended. Again, I'm so sorry if I left you hanging. I should be wrapping this story up (for good) soon...!


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